


Dreams in the Cavern

by Lazaria



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Lemon, Madness, Megalomania, Mind Control, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazaria/pseuds/Lazaria
Summary: Sephiroth mind-controls Tifa and turns her into his sex slave. Tifa feels as if something's not quite right...but then again...





	Dreams in the Cavern

The chamber in the city of the Cetra was dark, exquisitely dark with the phosphorescent glitter of the water on which the girl’s corpse floated.  I pushed at her with a stick, sending her drifting to the side. Her pink dress billowed out, weightless. I wondered who she was.

Above, at the crown of the rotunda, Sephiroth laughed.

I watched him walk down the stone stairs.  His body rippled under the leather and plate of his armor, catlike, muscular.  “So,” he murmured, gazing at the dead girl.  “You’ve found a nice toy.”  His eyes gleamed liquid green; he lifted my chin, his fingers cold, and he smiled ironically.  “A toy for my toy.”

I felt a mantle of heat wash over me, leaving me naked to him.  “Please,” I whispered.  “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m well aware of it.”  He stepped to the pool, resting a gloved hand on the hilt of his masamune.  “Plans for the Reunion continue.  Mother has seen to all the details.  Soon, the planet will be mine – and hers.”  A low chuckle rose out of him, his incredible shoulders moving with it.  “Then you’ll need your madness, Tifa. Won’t you.”

He terrified me, yet I wished him to look at me again – craved his mako gaze like an opiate. It reminded me so much of someone I used to know. Half-formed memories rose and turned under the surface of my broken thoughts. A translucent veil had dropped between the past and the future. When I tried to remember what had transpired before this timeless eon in the cave, everything seemed to dissolve and come apart, blurring into the totality of existence that was him. Sephiroth. He had destroyed my old mind and created a new one, a better one. He was all the past and all the future. 

Yet his eyes still made me think. As if sensing this, he kept his back towards me.  I had to lap up what I could, dying from thirst in that desert – winding my glance around his powerful, sleek calves, his long torso, the mighty heft of his shoulders, his arms, until I could almost taste them, almost feel them like iron, crushing me.  “Master,” I murmured, licking dry lips.  “You are like a god to me.”

“ _Like_ a god?” he turned swiftly.  In an instant, the blade nicked at my throat.

“You are God!  Master, please,” I sobbed.

Sephiroth smirked and withdrew the steel.  Idly, he examined me.  “One must know one’s place, however.  How long have I kept you?”

“Oh, not long enough.”

“Indeed.  You would stay?”

“Yes.  I -- ” momentarily, I struggled.  “I understand.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “You presume to understand me?”

I teetered on the edge of fear.  “I know you,” I stammered, “and I think I know what it is, to be – alone.”  I pressed my advantage.  “I will be yours entirely, if you wish.”

“Hmm.”  This seemed to interest him somewhat.  “I wonder if you know what that would mean.”

“I’ve been here with you for so long, imprisoned with you.”  I strained after him.  “Test me,” I cried.  “If I’m mad, so be it. I know I'm not what I was. Do with me as you will.”

The green eyes glowed out of the shadow.  As he approached, the silver mane of hair flowed behind him.  I gasped as he caught me by the throat.  He was incredibly strong.  My skin bruised as his glare burned into me.  A thread of terror tied me up speechless; if I had made a mistake, I'd be destroyed for it.

But I didn’t care.

I felt his breath close to my cheek and saw the white glint of his teeth.  “So empty inside,” he whispered.  “My little toy.”

His eyes roved to my throat and his hand slid onto it, around it.  I felt the pressure on my windpipe.  Black circles appeared before me, and I trembled, warm.

Then his lips were on mine, icy and sharp, pulling the warmth out of me as they devoured, for he had a great hunger that could never be sated.  This was his one weakness, his need.  I sighed roughly as I felt the slice, tasted the iron of my own blood, melted into the steel grip of his arms.

His hand stung my face so hard that I saw stars and wobbled on my feet.  The soreness of the bruise began.  “Inferiority must be learned.  It must be taught.  You must thoroughly know that you are nothing, nothing at all.  Nothing to me.  Merely my plaything, for a short while.”

But I saw his powerful chest heaving, his pale face almost translucent, flushed.  He was enjoying it, too.

“And you are the greatest leader of this world, or any other,” I said.

He rewarded me with a strike across the face, and flung me down to the stone.  I lay draped over it, my skin hot, filming with sweat.  I began to lift my shirt.

But Sephiroth stopped me with the blade at my throat.  “Be still.” 

With the ease of awful precision, he slashed the long blade like a knife across my torso and legs, severing the clothes from my body with razor strokes.  The blur of steel left my skin cruelly sliced in dozens of little calculated lines.  I knew he could have done it without touching my skin.  Such was his skill.  But he had chosen to cut me, and I was thankful for it.  A new delirium seized me, and I fell back, panting.

The tip of the blade raised my chin up as he towered over me, regarding me with that terrible coolness of his.  He twisted the blade, making a little cut under my jaw.  “You wish to be mine?  To belong to me?”

“No,” I said.  “I wish to be destroyed by you.”

Sephiroth’s eyes flared. 

With a quick movement, he flicked my blood from the blade and dipped it into the pool.  It came back with shreds of the dead girl’s clothes clinging to it, faded pink and dripping.  Sliding the clothes from the blade, he wound them about my arms and legs, pinning me to the rock.

The garments smelled faintly of decay.  I laughed.

Sephiroth smiled. He knelt over me, running long, gloved fingers down my torso.  Gripping my throat in one hand, he explored downward with the other, stroking the hot wetness with deft skill.  A wave of pleasure rose immediately out of his touch, like the strumming of a string.  I gasped.  He tightened his hand around my throat.

His voice purred close to my ear.  “If you could truly understand, then perhaps . . .”

Helpless to stop the waves of heat, I moaned.  Sephiroth’s grip tightened further.  I began to see black again.  It became difficult to breathe.  I tried to bring my hands up to my throat, but the bonds held fast.

My eyes moved over to him, pleading.  He was watching me with mocking relish.  I could not fight him.  As the shock of the orgasm overwhelmed me, I saw something tighten in his eyes, and his lips parted. 

I was half in darkness when he pulled me down into the pool.  Cold enveloped me.  I thrashed to the surface, only to be submerged again in the green depths of his eyes.  Water ran from his chiseled skin in rivulets of crystal.  He had shed his armor and stood in the pool like the statue of a god, indifferent to human suffering like my own.  And yet, as my ego shredded into pieces within that icy stare, I knew that he suffered too, and that his torment was buried somewhere deeper in the hollows of his being.  His eyes contained nothing but a great emptiness, monstrous, perfect.

He slammed me against the banking.  I screamed as the jagged rock pierced my skin.  Then he was in me, ramming in massive, painful thrusts, filling me to the brim with his anger and his hate and his need for dominion, and I crested on waves of pain transmuting into pleasure, losing my senses and my mind and myself, oscillating in and out of awareness.  I screamed; he clapped a hand over my mouth and forced my head back onto the rock.  My hands traced the musculature of his shoulders, trembling in weak ecstasy until he forced them still.  It went on forever, a glorious torture.

Aching, unable to move, my skin cruelly lacerated, I knew that he had made me a god, too. Our eyes caught each other in a moment of naked honesty.  I saw something break inside him.  He gave a desperate sound in the sudden rush of his own pleasure, driving deep into me.

He was heavy now; muscles quivering and spent, shaking in anguish.  A hand thrust out and grabbed the hilt of the masamune, lifted it above my heart.  It hung poised there, a stream of silver like the streams of silver hair that fell wetly about his hard, angelic face.

"Do it," I begged. "My energy is yours. Let me become a part of you."

"Your mind is overthrown. You don't know what you ask."

"I am as you made me."

A wave of torment passed through his eyes and he put the blade aside. "No," he murmured. "No . . . not yet."

He rose from the pool and I watched the diamond water sluicing from his body as he merged with the shadows. I wondered if this infinity would last. Could I pull away and salvage these dreams of a crumbled mind? If I remembered what it was that tickled the back of my consciousness, then I could see through that veil and find an escape from this endless present; I could rejoin the realm of the sane. But what would I become, then? The idea filled me with fear. I shuddered in the arid emptiness of the new world, intoxicated with the reverberations of Sephiroth's distant presence, and let the cavern's cool mist seep in every pore until it dissipated me into a numb and pleasant dark.

           


End file.
